


Ronnie the Rat Meets the Golden God

by DollBones



Series: Dynamic Duo In Effect [1]
Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Drug Use, Homosexuality, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 21:03:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6487312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollBones/pseuds/DollBones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mac meets Dennis Reynolds for the first time (It's Mac, so show-typically awful thinking and behavior).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ronnie the Rat Meets the Golden God

Ronnie the Rat.  It was not a particularly flattering nickname.  But he took what he could get.  In a life of want, it was nice to be given some acknowledgement, a reputation, even if it was a bad one.  The moniker had been gifted to him after he turned in all the other pot dealers at his high school, leaving him the sole supplier.  "Nobody likes a rat," his father once told him, but he believed it was a good business decision.  And boy, business was booming.  So let them call him Ronnie the Rat, he thought.  Personally, he preferred to go by Mac.

Mac sat underneath the bleachers, his usual hideout during lunch period.  His best friend Charlie Kelly sat beside him, pulling up blades of grass and licking them when he thought Mac wasn't looking.  Mac had known Charlie for practically his whole life.  The kid was weird and a little bit on the retarded side, but there was an understanding between them; they just clicked.  It was a connection that he doubted he'd find with anyone else.  They had a lot of things in common.  Mac didn't have the closest relationship with his father and Charlie didn't even know who his father was.  Plus, Charlie was just as poor as he was, so neither made fun of the other when he wore the same clothes two days in a row or scavenged the school grounds for coins to buy lunch.  

Having money for food had been one of the main incentives for Mac to start dealing.  Food was scarce in the Mcdonald house.  Most days when he opened the fridge, he'd find an expired quart of milk, mustard, limp bread, a shit ton of beer, and if he were lucky, some bruised apples.  He'd peel the skin off the apples and bring them with him in a brown paper bag to tide him over during school hours, along with a thermos of Coors.  His mother barely talked anymore or made the effort to budge from her chair in front of the television since his father had been sent to prison for the umpteenth time, so asking her for lunch money or to buy groceries every two weeks or so was pointless.  He was only 14, so it wasn't like he could get a job.  And even if he did get a job, he didn't know how to drive to get there.  So, really, dealing was the only viable option.  Like father, like son. Right?

However, once Mac started dealing and the cash came flowing in, he found it difficult to control his finances.  It wasn't like anybody in his house could have taught him some money management skills.  The fact that his mother sat on a sagging couch amidst a roomful of dinghy, falling-apart furniture in front of a massive screen TV was evidence of that.  Often, he wound up blowing his earnings on various gadgets and pleasure items.  Like yesterday, for instance, when he dropped $100 on a pair of shoes.  They shined in their fresh, new state in the bands of sunlight slipping through the bleachers.  Admiring them, Mac did not regret his decision.  The shoes paired with the leather jacket he bought last week made for a combination that was undeniably badass.

"You gotta stop looking at those shoes, man," Charlie said, glancing over at him. "It's freaking me out."

"I can't help it.  They're too awesome!" Mac replied enthusiastically.  "They fit perfectly with the whole rebel look that I've been trying to cultivate.  I gotta maintain a certain image around this place, you know."

"Yeah, I know," Charlie agreed, a little hesitant.  "It's just now we have no money, and..."

" _We?_ It's  _my_ money, dude,"

"Come on, man, don't be like that," Charlie whined.  He tilted his head back in a petulant manner, tufts of unbrushed and unwashed hair sticking out in various directions.  "You know I never have any money."

"That's because you spend it on Twinkies and candy."

Charlie snorted.  "Well, at least I don't spend it on ridiculous shoes."

"These shoes are  _not_ ridiculous, Charlie!  They are necessary for showing off how hard I am!"

Another snort.  "Please, you're not hard."

"Oh, I'm not?"  Mac narrowed his eyes, speaking with confidence.  "I'll have you know I've been hard just about every single day of my life.  I'm so hard that everybody stays away from me.  Cause they know I'll explode all over them."

Charlie sighed, sticking a handful of grass in his mouth to signal that the argument was over.  "Whatever."

 

A sudden voice came from above them.  "Hey, I heard you got something I need."

Both Mac and Charlie looked up to see the speaker.

A tall, lanky boy stood in front of them.  Mac treated him to the old ocular pat-down.  He was well-dressed, clad in a neat button-down plaid shirt and Levi jeans.  Rich kid, Mac thought.  Soft, spoiled, not much of a threat.  He had handsome, almost effeminate features. Long Roman nose, sharp jaw, and light blue eyes that sparkled, danced in the sun.  His hair was a mass of curls, painstakingly styled.  His skin was a few shades too pale and his shoulders a little too sparse underneath the shirt, but his eyes...wow, they captivated.  For some reason, Mac felt a nervous fluttering in his stomach, and it took a moment before he could speak.  He lowered his eyebrows, attempting his best to project an aura of toughness.

"Maybe," he said, making himself sound nonchalant.  "Who's asking?"

"Dennis Reynolds," the other boy answered, his lips coiling into a smirk.

 

Mac sat up, eyeing the boy more closely.  He recognized that name.  Dennis Reynolds was the richest kid in the entire school, possibly in the entire state of Pennsylvania.  Still, he'd heard some conflicting things about him.  Other kids said he was a freak who would go on crazy rants.  There were also rumors circulating around the school that he was gay, that he wore makeup.  Regardless, Mac knew from watching other girls cry to their friends about him that he banged a lot of chicks.  That plus the money automatically typed him as one of the cool kids in Mac's book.  "Hmm, I don't think I know that name," he lied.

The smirk on Dennis's face quickly evaporated, and his eyes turned dark.  Just as quickly, though, he smiled, like a robotic twitch.  It made Mac uneasy.  And that darkness in those brilliant blue eyes was like an ominous cloud moving in front of the sun.  "Well, I'm sure that's because you travel in far more, uh--" he took in Charlie eating grass--" _unique_ social circles than I do."

Mac frowned.  "Me and Charlie don't really care about that bullshit.  We live outside society's rules."

"Yeah!  Screw society!" Charlie crowed, his mouth full.

"Okay, sure.  Whatever," Dennis said, dismissing their words with a disdainful flick of his head.  He shifted impatiently on his feet, the darkness in his eyes now replaced by hunger.  "Are you gonna sell me the weed or not?"

"How much do you want?"

He faltered, uncertain.  "Uh, a gram?"

"15 bucks."

Dennis brought out his wallet and fumbled through it.  "The smallest bill I have is a 20," he reported.

"Well, I don't have any change," Mac said.  "Give me the 20."

The other boy glared at him like he was insane.  "I'm not giving you 20 bucks for 15 bucks' worth of weed!  And I doubt it's worth even that much."

Mac lay back on the ground. "Then I guess you're not getting any, bozo."

 

There was a beat of silence.  Then Dennis let out a frustrated groan and begrudgingly handed over a crisp 20 dollar bill.  Mac tossed him a plastic baggie, which he proceeded to stuff down the front of his pants, grumbling all the while.  "You know, if you weren't the only drug dealer in this goddamn place, I wouldn't even lower myself to associate with trash like you," he said in an arrogant tone.

A bolt of anger flashed through Mac.  Who did this guy think he was?  "Then don't bother," he snapped back.  "I don't care."

"Screw you, asshole!" Charlie joined him.

Dennis sniffed.  "Whatever.  I don't need you."  He turned and pointedly walked away.

Despite his anger, Mac couldn't help watching him leave.

Charlie scowled.  "Can you believe that guy?" he said to him.

"Mac?"

Mac blinked, shifted his attention towards his friend.  "Huh?"

Charlie looked at him incredulously.  "Dude, were you just staring at his butt?"

Mac's cheeks grew hot.  "What? No!   Gross, man!" 

Charlie was still looking at him.  Mac shifted his eyes, muttering.  "Totally gay."

 

A week later, Dennis was back.  Mac's heart did a clumsy leap at the sight of him, but he tried to look indifferent.  "Well, well, well, look who's come back with his tail between his legs."

It was an even hotter day than it had been the first time they met.  Mac's sweat glands, damn them, were in high gear, the underarms and back of his gray t-shirt completely drenched with perspiration.  Due to his naturally slovenly disposition, Charlie wasn't faring much better, his body issuing waves of stink.  Mac marveled at how unscathed Dennis was by the extreme temperatures, no visible pit stains even though he wore yet another button-down shirt and jeans.  His hair was once again perfect.  

"Yeah, yeah, yeah.  Look, I may have...underestimated my need for your services."

"Oh, did you now?" Mac and Charlie exchanged grins.

Dennis jabbed a finger at them like he was pointing a weapon.  "Shut up," he commanded, his voice immediately becoming harsh and cold.  "I don't want to play your idiotic little games.  Hand over the weed and get this over with."

Mac cocked his head thoughtfully.  "What if I refuse to sell to you?"

Dennis sighed in annoyance.  "Why on earth would you do that?"

"Because I can," Mac said, smiling.

The other boy sputtered, eyes wide. "That..that's outrageous!  Absurd!  You can't refuse to sell to a customer!"

"Oh, yeah I can."

"Why?"

"Because we don't like you, rich boy," Charlie called out, munching on a potato chip that he'd stolen from the bag that Mac had refused to share with him earlier.

Dennis pouted, looking down at them like a king that had been thwarted by peasants.  "You're  _really_ not gonna sell to me?" 

Mac considered.  "Alright." Dennis relaxed.  "But," he continued, "you have to smoke it with us."

Dennis examined him.  His gaze was intense, penetrating.  Mac squirmed, feeling violated.  It was like he was studying him, poking him all over with delicate yet insistent fingers, ransacking his brain.  A thin, satisfied smile then  flicked across his face, like a switchblade.  "I thought you didn't like me."

"I changed my mind.  Now, do you want weed or not?"

With an elegant shrug of his shoulders, Dennis lowered himself down and took a spot in the grass right next to him.  Mac swallowed.  The amazing heat of the day paralleled the sudden heat that now bloomed inside him.  Hoping that no one would notice the tremble in his hands, he opened a plastic bag and rolled a joint.

When he raised his eyes, he found Dennis staring at him with the same intensity as before, as if he knew exactly what he was feeling and was pleased by it.  The blue in his eyes danced, radiated light.

Mac handed him the joint.  The next few seconds played out in slow motion.  Dennis's expression altered, became all smoke and smoldering flame.  "Hit me, " he said softly, and stuck the joint in his mouth.

Mac hesitated, then leaned forward, inches away from that pink, finely curved shape, thin layer of stubble on the upper lip.  A perverse impulse to lean in farther and meet that mouth with his own flickered through his mind, and he shoved it hastily away, shame burning through him.  However, he maintained contact when their eyes locked, an electric current flowing from Dennis to himself that produced tiny ripples of pleasure in his abdomen.  Mac lit the joint.

Dennis sucked in languorously, then exhaled.  His poise broke momentarily with a fit of coughing.  Then he laughed.  It was a loud and boisterous laugh, like a round of applause.  Mac found himself drawn to it, wanting to hear it again and again.  "That is some good shit," he pronounced.

He passed the joint to Mac, who took in a toke.  Hacking, a lazy haze starting to filter though his limbs, Mac agreed, and passed the joint to Charlie.

The three boys got high under the bleachers and talked, skipping fifth period.  Charlie regaled them with bizarre tales of ghouls and nightcrawlers, which Dennis seemed to find genuinely entertaining.  Mac himself got into lecturing about the male lineup in the movie Predator, which Dennis expressed interest in as well.  In the end, they all left laughing with Dennis promising to hang out again sometime.  Maybe the Reynolds kid wasn't so bad after all, Mac thought.

**Author's Note:**

> I may add another chapter to this or make it into a series. Comments appreciated!


End file.
